


In My Head

by Little_Cello



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, ficathon 2013, lifein1973
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Cello/pseuds/Little_Cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene observes a sloshed Sam, and thinks it's a good state for Sam to be in. Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [debl_ns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/debl_ns/gifts).



> Written for the Ficathon 2013 over at [Lifein1973](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com). The prompt was "Sam/Gene; drunk!fic; up to Brown Cortina. What do they say to each other? May be serious or comedic--your choice." I didn't even manage to get past White Cortina, but oh well!

“It's all in my head.” Sam announced to no-one in particular.

 

Except that “no-one in particular” in this case was Gene, leaning heavily on the bar of the Railway Arms, watching Sam intently with his trademark pout. Around them, the pub was noisy as ever; the detectives were laughing and joking and shouting and singing, celebrating their most recent success. Of course, this collar hadn't gone down without problems – none ever did – and so even Sam had let himself get carried away with celebrating and ordered several pints and chasers more than he usually allowed himself. Gene thought that this was a good thing. It was a good thing that Sam loosened up every now and then, because it meant he'd actually smile. And laugh. And joke around without that searing irony of his.

 

But just then... Just then, Sam had this odd distant look to his eyes. Despite what others might say, DCI Hunt was a keen observer, priding himself in being able to tell those subtle signs and changes in other's faces. Well, his detectives' faces. Well.... Sam's face, really. Nothing else seemed really important at that moment, so it was all about Sam's face. The slight frown. The half-lidded eyes. The gaze fixed on some point far far beyond the bar.

 

“It's all.... in my head.” Sam repeated, punctuating the last word with a light clink of his glass and a small nod.

 

Gene thought that it might be time now to ask whether Sam was talking about his brains or those silly rules and regulations he always talked about, but just then Nelson announced that it was chuck-out time and that he would now proceed to enforce said chuck-out, and all complaints should please be directed to the Law.

 

“But we _are_ the law,” Sam muttered, giggling.

 

Gene decided that it definitely was time to get Sam home.

 

**

 

Somehow, they ended up in Sam's flat. That might have been to do with the fact that Sam had mentioned an unopened bottle of single malt in his cupboard. It might also have been to do with the fact that Gene wanted to make sure that Sam didn't get any silly ideas about trying to find out what _exactly_ was in his head. Daft bugger might end up trying to cut it open for all Gene knew.

 

“Really, Gene, y'don't... don't 'ave to babysit me,” Sam said, indignantly. He was sitting on his bed, blinking and rubbing his eyes. 

 

Gene pulled his face into his frowny-pout. “ 'm not. Came for the booze.”

 

“Hmmmmm... 's always 'bout booze with you, innit...” Funnily enough, Sam smiled a little as he slurred the words out.

 

Gene remained silent, observing Sam. He himself was bladdered as well, and no mistake, but... it was a different sort of bladdered...ness. He didn't feel much like talking. He felt much more like listening. And Sam apparently felt like talking quite a lot.

 

“Can't blame ye though, can I... backwards times, backwards habits...” Sam raised his arms, stretching somewhat clumsily. “Y'know, Gene, where I come from... came from..... will 'ave...... … … point is, I know places where it's all different.” He prolonged the “a” of “all”, leaning to the side to emphasise his statement, to a point where Gene thought Sam was going to topple off the bed.

 

“Yeah. Ye keep goin' on 'bout that. Hyde.”

 

Sam shook his head. “Nah. 's not... Hyde.” He frowned. “Hyde's stupid. I won't... won't go there. Back there.”

 

“Y' jus' said y'weren't talkin' 'bout Hyde.”

 

“An' I wasn't.” Sam nodded, importantly.

 

“Right.” Gene nodded too.

 

“Right.”

 

They both sat in silence for a moment.

 

“Gene.”

 

“What?”

 

“Why'd you come 'ere?”

 

“Told ya, y'dozy twat. Came for the booze.”

 

“... but I 'aven't got any.”

 

Strangely, Gene didn't really mind. Still, couldn't hurt to make a point, could it. “But y'said you've got some.”

 

Sam frowned again, evidently trying to recall exactly what he had told Gene. “Did not.”

 

“Did.”

 

“Did not.”

 

“Did.”

 

“Did not!”

 

“Did.”

 

“ _Not_!”

 

Suddenly, Sam was standing above Gene, and both of them didn't quite know how he'd got there. And then Sam started to sway slightly, so Gene thought it might be a good idea to get up as well, just to make sure the div didn't decide to collapse on the floor. Or on Gene, for that matter. So he reached out and put his hands on each of Sam's arms.

 

“Alright Dorothy? Yer not gonna swoon on me now, are ye.”

 

Sam snorted, pulling his mouth into a dozy, yet somehow... devious half smirk. “You'd like that, wouldn't ya.”

 

Yes. “No.”

 

Sam was looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, one eyebrow cocked. “ 'course you would. Could call me a girl day an' night if I did.”

 

Gene had to admit that that was an undeniable truth. “Would be jus' like you though, wouldn't it.”

 

“Hm.” Sam chuckled, then turned away, sticking his hands into the pockets of his ridiculous trousers. Gene's own hands fell back to his sides after a moment.

 

“How d'you know I'd do somethin' like that?”

 

Gene blinked, pulling his face into an even heavier frown than usual. “You wha'?”

 

Sam turned back around to face him, and there was that odd look again. “How d'you know I'd... swoon? Why would I do somethin' like that? Really, Guv – how... well... d'you know me? Really?”

 

Gene didn't respond, merely observing Sam. He wasn't used to this. Sam was the one Gene could bounce off of, the one who would always fight back. And, in his drunk mind, other thoughts were forming on the exact nature of his and Sam's relationship... But Gene was distracted by how _vulnerable_ Sam looked at that moment, his gaze boring into Gene like Gene was his only chance to... to.... what?

 

“Gene.” Sam took an insecure step forward.

 

“... yer me DI,” Gene said, somewhat numbly. What else could he say? To him, it seemed like the most coherent explanation out there. How else would he describe what Sam meant to him, without sounding like a soppy old cow?

 

However, Sam didn't seem to agree. His mouth opened for a moment, before his eyebrows knotted up in disappointment. “Your _DI_. Tha's all, is it.” He scoffed, looking down. Gene didn't understand. Sam should know him by now, should know what he'd meant by his statement.

 

“Jus' your DI.” Sam continued, now getting properly worked up. “Jus' yer DI! I thought we had-- I thought we were....!”

 

“Oi now,” Gene interjected, slightly alarmed, “think b'fore ye say somethin' yer gonna regret, Sammy-boy.”

 

That was something _Gene_ was going to regret saying.

 

“Would it hurt ye t'say somethin' nice for once?! Would it?!? Chrissakes, Gene, it's a simple enough question!” Sam was on him in a flash, all blazing eyes and tense neck. Beautiful neck. “ 'cos honestly, sometimes I really don't know why I came back, why... why I.... came....”

 

Oh, Christ. Gene couldn't see Sam's face any more, his head was bowed, hands fisted into Gene's shirt, trembling slightly. Was the daft bugger crying?!

 

“Sam?”

 

Gene received no reply, and that worried him – he had expected a punch or something at least.

 

“Oi, Tyler.” Like before, Gene took a hold of Sam's shoulder, trying to peer into the smaller man's eyes, which proved to be a difficult task (mostly because Gene couldn't quite coordinate his movements to both lean down a bit and push Sam back slightly). And Sam was still clinging to his shirt...

 

And then Gene heard the sound.

 

Sam was laughing.

 

Gene was stupefied for a moment, a moment which Sam used to disentangle himself from Gene's grasp.

 

“God... Look at us both. I think... I think we're drunk, eh, Gene.” Sam had turned away again now, genuinely laughing. He barely ever laughed like that. Gene didn't understand what was going on, but a part of him thought that he definitely should get Sam wasted like that more often, if it lead to making him laugh this way.

 

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.”

 

Sam continued to giggle in a disturbingly girly way now, and Gene started to think that maybe it was time to put an end to this.

 

“Listen Gladys, if you 'aven't got any booze, I'll be on me way.”

 

That put an end to Sam's breakout of hilarity. “Oh, c'mon....”

 

Gene waited.

 

“.......... You can't drive while drunk?” Sam offered, lamely.

 

“I drove 'ere, you twat.”

 

“No you didn't. We walked.”

 

“We drove.”

 

“Walked.”

 

“Dro--”

 

“Walked! You nearly ran into a lamppost!”

 

Gene was about to hold against that, because he would never do such a stupid thing, but then he stopped himself mid-breath, brow wrinkling with intense thought.

 

Actually, Sam was right.

 

And Sam seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because that stupid, brilliant grin spread on his face again. “So, y'see. You gotta stay anyway.”

 

Gene's frown deepened. “Says 'oo?”

 

“Says me. 'm not lettin' you walk back in your state. You'll keel over an' sleep it off in a gutter, an' then there goes your reputation as the Manc Lion.” Sam's words would have had more impact had he not been grinning idiotically all the while.

 

Gene snorted – but to be fair, the prospect of sleeping in the street didn't much appeal to him. The thought of walking out of Sam's flat didn't appeal to him either, for that matter. It would mean leaving that brilliant dopey grin behind.

 

“Well. An' you'd cry yerself t'sleep if I left now anyway.”

 

Sam laughed in reply, his strange mood from before apparently forgotten entirely. But Gene was used to him being jumpy with his moods when he was drunk, so he didn't think about it any further. Sam's grin was too bloody distracting anyway.

 

“Speakin' of, I'm not sleepin' on the floor,” the very same said triumphantly, plopping himself down on the creaking thing he called “bed”.

 

“Well, neither 'm I,” Gene replied, frowning.

 

“Well, then.”

 

Somehow, Gene was starting to feel like Sam was taking some prize and loving every moment of it. That was something he had in common with his sober self – he always was so damn smug about getting things right and having them his way. When he was drunk, though, it started to become even more obvious...

 

Not that Gene was complaining.

 

For the sake of retaining some of his dignity, Gene pulled his face into what he thought was a sceptical pouty frown. Or frowny pout. Whatever. “If you put your bony elbow anywhere near me gut though...”

 

“Won't 'appen. Promise.” Was he ever going to put out this goofy grin of his? Gene watched Sam adjust on his creaking bed, and decided that Sam had definitely planned for all of this to happen. Why else would he look this pleased?

 

“C'mon, then!”

 

“Alright alright, untwist yer knickers! Christ, didn't know ye were this desperate, Dorothy!” 

 

“ 'm not desperate, 's just you look like you're gonna keel over any moment. And I'm not picking you up off the floor, just so y'know.” How smug could one man look, honestly?

 

Without another word, Gene crossed the distance between him and Sam's bed, and unceremoniously let himself fall down on it, causing a huge racket and nearly catapulting Sam right off the other side.

 

“Jesus!”

 

“Make up yer mind Ty-- Oi!” Sam had reflexively grabbed for Gene's arm, startling him.

 

“... I think I'm gonna be sick.”

 

“Oh no you little bugger, not on me you won't.” Gene made to push Sam off the bed for real this time, but Sam clung to him as if for his dear life. The faint smell of whisky washed over Gene, and for a moment his train of thoughts, already going strange places, was interrupted entirely. Not for the first time this evening, Gene decided that Sam definitely was very, very bladdered.

 

“ 'm ok. 'm fine,” Sam muttered, nestling a bit closer to Gene.

 

 _Very_ bladdered.

 

But... so was Gene himself, wasn't he. So in the end, it was probably alright.

 

With a little sigh – just to make sure his discomfort was entirely obvious and that he absolutely wasn't enjoying this – Gene let one hand come to rest on Sam's shoulder, with the prospect of letting it travel upwards further later on... to ruffle that hair, for example. Gene liked seeing Sam's hair all ruffled up.

 

In response, Sam smiled again, growing sleepier and sleepier by the second. He muttered something, and Gene only caught the last few words.

 

“.... makes nice things too.”

  
“You wha'?”

 

Sam yawned, and Gene inhaled reflexively to catch that waft of whisky and _Sam_ once more.

 

“Said... my 'ead sometimes makes nice things too.”

 

Not for the first time this evening, Gene frowned. “You think all o' this is in yer 'head?”

 

Sam remained silent for a bit, actually contemplating the question. Then he said, “Maybe not.”

 

“Bloody well right. My magnificence can't 'ave been thought up by a scrawny git like yerself.” 

 

And again, that smile. “ 's not all in my 'ead, then?”

 

“No.” Gene said, with conviction.

 

His smile still in place, Sam's eyes closed, and Gene was sure he'd fallen asleep, but then he heard one more word, mumbled in half-sleep already.

 

“.... good.”


End file.
